Roles in an Addicted Family
by JulietGivesUp
Summary: "When a parent is addicted to alcohol or drugs...the children tend to follow designated roles as the family 'acts out' the drama of addiction...these roles enable them to survive..." (Sekouri)


**Roles in an Addicted Family**

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_**"When a parent is addicted to alcohol or drugs...the children tend to follow designated roles as the family 'acts out' the drama of addiction...these roles enable the them to survive..." (Sekouri)  
**_

The Lost Child

_"This is the forgotten child. The lost child is often left places or otherwise forgotten. Inside, the child feels very sad and alone...invisible to almost everyone in the family..."(Sekouri)_

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**Victim #1: Matthew Williams; the Lost Child**

It was exactly eighteen hours, thirty-seven minutes, and twenty-two seconds until Matthew's twelfth birthday …not that anyone was counting. Living with the Kirklands for exactly three years now, the boy eventually learned not to cling to false hope that on the celebrated day of his own son's birth, _Arthur_ would magically appear in his room with a horribly baked cake wishing him a happy birthday. Well, at least he could look forward to a postcard from his grand-mère. Surely _she _would remember …right?

In any case, it was time to get ready for school.

The rousing scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen indicating that his older brother was more or less awake downstairs. What surprised Matthew though was not the phenomenon that his brother was _actually _awake this early in the morning and not scrambling for his backpack, but the mere fact that the house was _silent_ and _almost_ _peaceful_ like any other ordinary household. Matthew absorbed the silence, noting the source of this tranquil atmosphere.

There in the decade-old sofa, slept Arthur, his hair in a chaotic, blonde mess sticking up in all directions with his arms sprawled lazily on his sides. His necktie was skewed, several buttons on his shirt undone and sure enough, his black lounge suit carelessly tossed on a mountain of rum bottles. Good ol' Alfred turned to Matthew as he descended the stairs, finger to his lips in a 'shh!' gesture as he gently tucked their father under a duvet. A refreshing glass of water and Advil were already waiting for Arthur.

The two brothers tip-toed to the kitchen wearing satisfied smiles.

"So, Mattie, how's it going?" Alfred grinned mixing a batter of pancakes.

Matthew sat and watched his brother's back as he poured the mix on the pan clumsily. His seventeen year old brother has already sacrificed so much for him and their father. Alfred acted more like a father-figure to Matthew than Arthur would ever be in a lifetime. He worked two part-time jobs on the weekends, organize the house bills, grocery shopping, and cleaning. In addition to that was an the more difficult task of caring for Arthur, picking their father up from the pub and dealing with the man's drunken rage. It would be too much trouble to bother Alfred with his upcoming birthday.

"…not much to be honest. I heard you, uh, won some game last week? What school are you guys up against this time?" Matthew diverted the conversation away from him.

"Yep, dominated the whole game," Alfred said setting the plate of pancakes on the table. "Next game is in some school in SoCal. If we win that, we're off to the state championships."

"And that's a big deal... right?"

"Ah, no. Not really. I mean it's really only _the _state championships." Alfred and Matthew snickered.

"I bet coaches from all over are starting to recruit you into their college teams, huh Al?"

Despite Alfred's hectic life, he was the star quarterback of his high school's football team. Fit and athletic, Matthew felt pathetic compared to his dynamic big brother. Not only that, but Alfred had intellect to boot. He advanced in all of his sciences and mathematics, and could do more than achieve a major in astrophysics and other sciences. That is, if he ever gets to college.

Alfred shrugged. "I've had a couple offers for a football scholarship but you know I'll have to turn them down, Mattie..."

"N-No, Alfred we can work it out somehow! W-We can rent a dorm a-and you can take me with you and m-maybe you can check on Arthur once in a while. I'm sure he can take care of himself a-and-"

"I'm sorry Mattie, but we can't just leave Dad. H-He's the only I... _we've _got. He needs _us_."

The atmosphere dimmed between them as Matthew looked away guiltily. It was all that man's fault Al couldn't bring himself to strive for more, _better_ things in life. His poor, big brother didn't deserve to be trapped inside this dysfunctional family of theirs, unable to escape this confine because of their unstable father. In his drunk and somber state, Arthur would pour all the blame on Alfred, sometimes unintentionally harming his son who was only trying to help.

Matthew could do nothing but cower in fear upstairs, rocking his body as a comfort mechanism, and his headphones in full blast. Alfred would come for him minutes after Arthur passes out drunk in the sofa or storms out to the nearest pub. His big brother would soothe him, rocking him to sleep while Matthew numbly traced Alfred's newest collection of cuts and bruises.

Many times, far too many to count, Matthew thought of seeking for help. He was so close, _so close _to reaching one of his teacher's shoulders and breaking down in front of them, but Matthew knew he could not. Alfred begged him not to tell. Not the teachers, not his grand-maman, not their relatives, not _anyone_.

"They're gonna take him away from us, Mattie!" he said. "That's what they'll do! They'll take Dad away from us and we'll never see him again!"

Secretly, Matthew could care less about what would happen to the man given the title of his 'Dad.' Arthur never cared for neither him nor his mother when she died three years ago. He didn't care that he got her pregnant when he already had a wife and Alfred. He didn't care when Matthew arrived, scared and timid of meeting his 'father' for the first time, and had he ever called Matthew by his name. Arthur would always mistake Matthew for Alfred (that being that the two brothers looked remarkably alike), crying "Alfred this!" and "Alfred that!" but never 'Matthew.' No. To Arthur, Matthew Williams borne from Françoise Williams never existed.

Nevertheless, he promised Al he would never tell.

That somber night, Matthew dragged a secret stash of Arthur's rum from under his bed. His hands shook as he looked at the freshly opened bottle in his hands. The boy glanced at the digital clock beside his bed. He attempted to make his room look somewhat livelier. He added red and white streamers on the walls, strung colorful balloons he inflated himself – he even sneaked a small cupcake with a lighted candle in the center.

Seconds ticked by in anticipation. 5 seconds… 4 seconds… 3 seconds… 2 seconds… 1… Happy Birthday Matthew! He raised the bottle to his lips and took his first sip.

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**This is a piece for a writing prompt in school. We were to utilize and illustriate the effects of an alcohol abuser in a family as well as the roles the victimized children took on. I realize I did a not so good job on "utilizing the effects of alcohol" but all the same, it was a pleasure to write this story. Perhaps I may continue with Alfred as the next victime, though I hardly doubt it because of my other discontinued stories. Thank you for reading and have a nice day!**


End file.
